


By The Angel

by misfitmonarchy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Astral Projection, Derek tragic backstory Hale, Discord Challenge, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Shadowhunter AU, Shadowhunter Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 05:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19192858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misfitmonarchy/pseuds/misfitmonarchy
Summary: If it hadn’t been for Derek Hale, Stiles’ Parabatai would be dead. If it weren’t for Derek Hale, Stiles would never have learned to hone his talents with a spell book.If it weren’t for Derek Hale, Stiles wouldn’t be sat at this warlock’s mantle, folded map under his palms and reciting ancient Latin as marks that shouldn’t exist throbbed and burned. It shouldn’t be possible, Stiles knows, for a shadowhunter to perform magic. That was warlock stuff, their powers came from their demon parents.





	By The Angel

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the theme challenge posted by NovKat21, BLUE!
> 
> this one grew a life of it's own... I drew a little fanart ([here](https://66.media.tumblr.com/2d2b36d4c8ef9692fecd5123df87310c/tumblr_pt059h4G0T1xjm632o1_540.jpg)) and then a story came from it!
> 
>  
> 
> ENJOY!

Stiles sits at the table, his freshly drawn marks still burning as he drops the stele back into his pocket. Scott could take care of himself, and Stiles could still feel him, through their parabatai bond, throbbing with life. Fear, but life. Derek though….

 

He didn’t know enough about werewolves for this. He knew how to kill them, all shadowhunter children learned that stuff in elementary school. But this?

 

How in the seven hells was he supposed to track down a werewolf that was probably hidden with invisibility runes if Kate’s cage was anything to guess by. Stiles had looked into her, turns out (not surprisingly that she’d been running with Valentine and well, if that wasn’t bad enough-- Stiles had found a trail of Downworlder bodies whenever her name and description cropped up in his research.

 

The woman was a racist demon bitch and now she had something that Stiles hadn’t realized meant more to him than anything else. Derek.

 

Derek Hale, born werewolf and one of the last surviving Hales, his mother, Talia Hale, adopted him as a cub during a mission. She raised him as her own, despite being a shadowhunter herself. When an alpha came for Derek as a baby they say Talia killed it with one hand, because the other was cradling two year old Derek. But she’d paid a price, she Turned.

 

After that, they built a family outside of Idris. No one spoke about the Hale name for over two decades until Valentine came back. And then everyone could talk about was the werewolf family that was slaughtered in order to get enough blood for the soul sword. A massacre with one lone survivor: Derek Hale.

 

At the time of it all, Stiles was only fourteen, Derek had been eighteen and bossy as hell. They’d met when he and Scott had stumbled into a glamoured werewolf bar after being jumped by a demon. If it hadn’t been for Derek Hale, Stiles’ parabatai would be dead. If it weren’t for Derek Hale, Stiles would never have learned to hone his talents with a spellbook.

 

If it weren’t for Derek Hale, Stiles wouldn’t be sat at this warlock’s mantle, folded map undel his palms and reciting ancient latin as marks that shouldn’t exist throbbed and burned. It shouldn’t be possible, Stiles knows, for a shadowhunter to perform magic. That was warlock stuff, their powers came from their demon parents.

 

The runes he’d scratched into the old chestnut table turned white, and the light ran along the engravings until they seemed to bubble with it. As if the light itself were a liquid that ran towards the paper under his hands. Slowly it began to take shape, like a large raindrop that swallowed his hands and began bubbling upward and outward.

 

It began to spit like hot coals, blue glowing magic-sludge that almost made Stiles think of slow falling rain that ran backwards.

 _Please… Bring him back!_ Stiles begged the Angel. His eyes slide closed, and he was oblivious to how they burned red for a second, and focused on the iciness of his mother’s pendant on his chest as it slipped free from shirt collar.

 

Had Stiles kept his eyes open he might have noticed how the last reminder of his mother, a stone that he’d always kept about his neck, was glowing bright like the map in front of him.

 

The world turned from burning lava-hot to ice cold before it swirled so hard Stiles nearly threw up. And then he was standing in a dank and dark cave. He looked to his hands, but they were hardly there, he was astral projecting.

 

 _“Not exactly a teleportation spell, but I’ll take it.”_ He says, frowning when his voice echoes and is all whispy and unfamiliar. _“Woah.”_

 

Apparently he didn’t study enough about teleportation and definitely not enough about astral projection to know the cause. But hopefully he was at least in the right place.

 

 _“Derek?”_ He called, his raspy voice bouncing off the dark cave walls and seeming to go on forever. There was no answer, and Stiles wished he could see better, wondering if maybe he’d only find Derek’s body slumped in a corner. The thought of that twisted something hard and sharp in his heart. _“DEREK?”_

 

Stiles began searching the cave, but all he found were old bones and a trail leading deeper.

 

 _“DEREK!”_ He called, letting his scream go deeper into the cave as he ran down the trail. He hoped that in the least, in this astral form, the hunters wouldn’t be able to kill him, because he’s pretty sure he can do anything corporeal like this.

 

He’s continuing down the trail when he hears it, a howl.

 

Derek.

 

Stiles feels sick, and goes to lean against the wall when the world swirls dangerously. He lets out a shout when instead of hitting the wall though-- he goes right through it.

 

Right. Astral form.

 

 _“Derek where are you?”_ He calls, pulling his hand back from the wall, the last thing he wants to do is walk through it and get lost inside a rock. He has a feeling it would be a really bad idea. Note to self: read up more on astral projecting later.

 

The howl comes from the heart of the cave and Stiles lets out a cry at what he finds. Derek is full shifted, a sight he’s never been privy to seeing except that one time he’d been suffering from demon poisoning.

 

 _“DEREK. Derek! I’m here! I’m trying to find you, I promise. We’re coming. Scott and Kira and Allison and even Isaac and Boyd and Creepy Peter we--”_ Stiles moves through the cage easily, and studies the runes there. As he thought, there’s every kind of hiding charm on this damn thing.

 

The wolf snarls at him, batting at his stomach and Stiles windmills away, freezing in shock just as Derek watches it pass through him. It seems to knock the full shift free, and the man changes back.

 

 _“Derek, I don’t have much time--”_ Stiles feels a headache coming on but he pushes it back. _“I need to know where you are.”_

 

“Stiles? What-- How--”

 

 _“I don’t know how. I just-- I needed to find you. And I’m here, projecting astrally or… whatever. I can’t free you like this my hands just pass through everything but..”_ Stiles presses a ghostly hand against Derek’s cheek. _“I-- We’re coming. I promise.”_ He says, wishing he could feel the stubble there, or wipe away the crusted blood on Derek’s cheek.

 

The alpha’s eyes burned red and he growls deeply. “I thought… It doesn’t matter what I thought.” He looks down, and Stiles wishes he could shout, ‘of course it matters what you think!’, but instead he looks back to the cage. It’s made of pure iron, and marked with over twenty different runes.

 

 _“This damn thing is designed to hold in just about anything. It’s gotta be a homebrew, there’s no way the Clave would let anyone outside the Gard put their hands on these. Even then, it’s against the Accords…”_ Stiles trails his hand over the bars, passing through easily. The headache throbs harder.

 

“I think we’re under the old Hale house. Kate burned it to the ground after she…” _After she killed my entire family._ It goes unsaid. “There was a cellar, and I just know that she’d be sick enough to bring me back here. I… Stiles…” Derek wheezes and for the first time Stiles realizes there’s wiring attached to his chest.

 

A broken sound comes out of Stiles as he notices the electrical batteries that are currently off that connect to Derek. Electrocution was one thing werewolves, and most things with a heartbeat let’s be honest; couldn’t withstand for long.

 

 _“I’m coming.”_ Stiles promises. _“I promise I’ll find you Derek, I swear it on the Angel.”_

Derek smiles a little, but it’s tiring and far too empty. “Big words. A shadowhunter swearing on the angel for a Downworlder?”

 

_“Shut up.”_

 

“Make me.”

 

 _“I will when I get there because--”_ The pounding in his head increases and suddenly everything starts fading.

 

Derek lets out a whine, and it sounds like his name. It’s the last thing Stiles heads before the world goes from ice cold to lava-hot again and it swirls violently again. When he resurfaced back in the parlor, marks burning and the blue lights faded-- Stiles definitely throws up.

 

He’ll have to pay back Lydia later, or he might end up turned into a rat or something.

 

But right now he has bigger concerns: Derek.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to COMMENT, LEAVE KUDOS and SHARE! 
> 
> i'm [misfitmonarchythings](https://misfitmonarchythings.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
